


I Wish It

by diemarysues



Series: Marriage in the Manner of Dwarves [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courtship and wedding over, it's time for prizes to be claimed.</p>
<p>To be more blunt: their wedding night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish It

**Author's Note:**

> It isn't necessary to have read [Courting Habits](http://archiveofourown.org/works/725630/chapters/1346510) before this, but it is more satisfying. Js.

It was late.

 

Bilbo had to employ all of his concentration to set one foot in front of the other. At least he didn’t have to navigate; Thorin’s hand was a blazing and steadying point of heat at the middle of his back. Bilbo pushed the heavy door open and hummed at the rush of blessed warmth that greeted them.

 

Perhaps that shouldn’t have surprised him; two fireplaces and all.

 

Wine and food and general merriment had slowed his thoughts and his movements; it was a miracle that Bilbo managed to shuck his outer layers – it helped that he did not have to remove flowers and pins from his hair like Thorin, certainly.

 

As he thought of the King – his _husband_ – Thorin appeared in front of him, tipping his chin upwards. He allowed Thorin to steal a chaste kiss; it certainly woke him up a little.

 

“Are you wishful of a bath?” Thorin asked, and Bilbo had barely opened his mouth for a breath before he followed it up with, “You may join me, if so,” and _that_ certainly woke him up.

 

He replied without thinking. “Alright.” And, really, it was silly of him to be nervous of sharing a bath with the Dwarf he was supposed to share the rest of his _life_ with. It was just a bath.

 

He gulped as Thorin gestured him into the enormous washroom. Yes. Just a bath.

 

Luckily, there was enough _in_ the washroom to distract him from his rising anxiety. It was actually jaw-dropping to take in the swirling edges of the wall-mirror – luckily he caught sight of his reflection and quickly shut his mouth. The effect of the multicoloured pebbles under his feet was indeed pleasant (as Kíli had once mentioned), and Bilbo took a moment to stand in place and wiggle his toes as Thorin worked at filling the bath.

 

“Is there a specific pattern to it?” he asked interestedly, briefly entertaining the silly thought of climbing atop a tall stool to see if he’d be able to discern a larger picture out of the stones.

 

“No. They were allowed to fall where they would.” Thorin placed his hands atop Bilbo’s shoulders and Bilbo happily leaned back against his bulk. Those large palms slid down Bilbo’s arms, and Thorin’s hair fell over his shoulder as lips found the back of Bilbo’s neck. “Do you find it pleasing, my One?”

 

Bilbo shivered. “I do.”

 

A chuckle. “You will have the rest of your life to admire it, Mahal willing.”

 

Bilbo turned in his grasp, a thrill running up his spine at the Dwarf’s words and at the softly intense look in his pale eyes. He pressed his hands against Thorin’s chest.

 

“Perhaps we should disrobe, my King.”

 

Having shed their outer garments earlier, this was the work of moments. Bilbo blushed darkly and toed into the water first before he could stare at Thorin’s naked body; he was pleased to find that there were steps carved into the side of the bath upon which he could sit. Immersing himself in the sinfully hot water from the shoulders down, he sighed a bit.

 

Bilbo ignored the sound of cloth hitting the floor just as surely as he ignored the sound of another body entering the bath. He made sure to keep his back to Thorin and quickly ducked his head underwater so he could start to wash it.

 

Needless to say, the nerves were back.

 

He’d almost forgotten the fact that Thorin was in the bath with him – _almost_ , because he wasn’t deaf, and he was aware of the swirl of the water around his bare, bare, _bare_ skin – until the touch of a warm, wet hand on his shoulder.

 

Bilbo flinched away with a splash, hunching his body in on himself, and resolutely keeping himself turned away. He didn’t want to know Thorin’s expression. He didn’t want to confirm that Thorin was inches away.

 

“Bathing _will_ involve touching, dear one.”

 

“You can bathe yourself,” Bilbo retorted.

 

“…you are aware that we will be doing more than bathing, tonight?”

 

“Please excuse me, my King, for needing time to adjust. I did spend most of the year working to keep my hands to myself, after all.”

 

Thorin’s sigh sent goosebumps running along his naked shoulders. “Turn around, please.”

 

It took him longer than it should have to obey. Bilbo was insanely thankful that the water blurred the sight of his body from his collarbone downwards – and although the same could not be said of the taller Thorin, at least Bilbo could fix that by keeping his gaze on pale eyes and nothing else.

 

“You _did_ agree to this.”

 

His gaze dropped to Thorin’s chin – no further. “I did.”

 

Knuckles stroked down his cheek. “I meant, you agreed to my courtship. You agreed that we be wed.” Bilbo noticed that there was a careful lack of emotion in Thorin’s voice. “And yet you shy away from me.”

 

“It’s not that I’m shy, you _know_ I’m not. I…” Unable to find the words, Bilbo looked up desperately; whatever was in his face had Thorin making a soft sound and he leaned forward to seal the scant distance between them.

 

Bilbo met the kiss with equal fervour, even if he didn’t relax into it. Thorin noticed and kept close after they separated, nudging Bilbo’s chin with his nose.

 

“I will not do anything you don’t wish to do.”

 

“But I want to –” He sighed. “I _want_. And that frightens me.”

 

“Then we shall go slowly. And if you find something disagreeable, or if I find something disagreeable, we’ll let the other know.” Thorin waited until Bilbo nodded before he sat them on one of the lower steps (making sure that the Hobbit still had his chin above water). “If it’s any consolation, I have found it difficult to keep my hands to myself since before I made my intentions clear.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes.” Thorin was not insulted at the suspicious tone and played with a lock of Bilbo’s hair, snickering as he dripped water onto the Hobbit’s face. “You were very cruel, traipsing around in those revealing shirts of yours.”

 

“Excuse me! Those shirts were perfectly respectable!” At least he hadn’t been putting himself on show like one Dwarf-king.

 

“Respectably exposing the line of your neck.” Thorin’s voice was heated and Bilbo bit off a gasp when lips found that line. One kiss, and then the second, lower, and then – and now he was just mouthing at Bilbo’s skin. Unfair. “And you hardly helped with your gift requests.”

 

“If you’d sprung for Hobbit ‘courting’, we’d not have had to wait so long.” Boldly, he trailed his fingers down Thorin’s collarbone, curling the chest hair there.

 

“Perhaps in that way you are wiser than us.”

 

“Only in one way?”

 

“Well, we are better craftsmen.” Thorin gave up his assault on Bilbo’s neck (unfortunately) to gesture expansively at the bathroom. “This whole mountain, of course, and the heated water supply that runs through it.” He went on even to proudly describe the pipe system from the contributory underground lake, and turned so he could look upon the appropriately awed face of his husband.

 

“How did your Company manage to destroy the washroom in my house, then, if the plumbing here is so impressive?” Bilbo asked instead.

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“Before you arrived at my smial, your Dwarves had a merry party in my home and ruined – among other things – the water closet.”

 

“I was sure that I told them to leave everything as they found it.”

 

“I didn’t have time to look over it the day I left,” Bilbo said slowly. “But when I returned to the Shire to collect my things, I did notice that it was fixed up in an entirely different way. No one in Hobbiton could figure it out.”

 

“Ah.” He looked slightly abashed. “At least it was mended?”

 

Bilbo made an unimpressed noise. “Let’s wash before it gets too late.”

 

They did indeed bathe and dried themselves off leisurely, although Bilbo briefly criticized the lack of a rack for their towels (“Just put it on the floor.” “That’s disgusting!”). 

 

Warm as it was in Thorin’s bedroom –Our _bedroom_ , Bilbo thought with a shiver – Bilbo made sure to wrap his robe around him neatly. They may have been married, but he didn’t see why he had to display himself unnecessarily.

 

Thorin, however, seemed to have no such qualms. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed without any shame at all, casting an amused look as Bilbo blushed and busied himself with the contents of the topmost dresser drawer. When he tottered over to the bed, hairbrush and bottle of oil in hand, he’d managed to will his blush down.

 

Well, until Thorin grinned at him again, leaning back on his hands.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

Bilbo held his head high. “Do you normally sleep in naught but your skin?”

 

He laughed. “Only when the nights are too hot. Though I can make it a habit, if you wish.”

 

“I’ll let you know.”

 

“When?”

 

“Pardon?” Goodness, his ears were burning.

 

Thorin caught his hand and kissed along the inside of his wrist. It didn’t help with his bright red ears. “When will you let me know?” His eyes raked down Bilbo’s form in a way that made him feel like he wasn’t wearing a robe at all. “Am I to pass some sort of inspection?”

 

“Well I’m satisfied on a visual front.” Bilbo even managed a smirk at the pleased surprise on Thorin’s face. “I may need some time for the more… practical bits.”

 

His hands were placed on strong muscle. “Best get started, I think.”

 

That was an offer he certainly couldn’t refuse.

 

Swallowing, Bilbo wonderingly slid his palms down Thorin’s chest, and then up again, fascinated by the soft-rough hair across it. His fingers brushed the dusky buds of Thorin’s nipples, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps on purpose; it made Thorin arch and groan all the same. The second time Bilbo brushed over them was most assuredly deliberate.

 

He wanted to set his teeth to them. This realisation frightened him.

 

Nimble fingers danced their way across broad shoulders, and the muscles there went taut. Bilbo continued on unheedingly and Thorin remained tense, stiffening further when Bilbo’s hands settled on either side of his neck.

 

“For future reference,” Bilbo murmured gently, eyes downcast. “My hands barely go around your neck, and I’m not strong enough to hold you down. Rest assured that if I ever kill you, it’ll be with a different method.”

 

“That isn’t funny.”

 

“It’s very funny.” Still not glancing up at Thorin’s doubtlessly unamused expression, Bilbo leaned forward to brush his mouth against the hollow of Thorin’s throat, wrinkling his nose at the tickle of the beard against it. He pushed with his thumbs to tip Thorin’s head backwards, feeling the apple of Thorin’s throat bob under his tongue.

 

A primal part of him thrilled at being able to do this and at the realisation that he was free to do this whenever he wanted in future. (Alright, perhaps not _whenever_ , but…) He fumbled with the oil bottle he’d abandoned, somehow uncorking it and generously applying it to Thorin’s hair without stopping the motion of his mouth.

 

Perhaps he needn’t have fetched the hairbrush; his fingers combed through Thorin’s dark locks effortlessly, supple as silk and pulling soft noises from Thorin. Or perhaps that was the way Bilbo was now generously applying his teeth to Thorin’s unevenly pale skin.

 

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered, and Bilbo paused. “You are being cruel again.”

 

“Not cruel enough, if you can still speak.”

 

Bilbo dug his thumbs into Thorin’s scalp, and smiled when Thorin hummed deeply. He swept the long black locks of hair to one side and slipped his fingers up Thorin’s neck. The muscles there went tight for a moment before Thorin let out a long groan that had Bilbo’s cheeks flaming red.

 

He had to take a moment to regain his balance when Thorin fell forward slightly to rest his forehead on Bilbo’s shoulder.

 

“Better?” he asked teasingly.

 

“Mmm. Again,” Thorin slurred. The sounds he made as Bilbo did as told were extremely flattering and shamefully shameless. Bilbo let his free hand rest on Thorin’s back, tracing the ridges of his spine absently.

 

Without really thinking about it, he kissed the shell of Thorin’s ear.

 

“When thou must home to halls deep underground, and there arrived, a new admired guest…”

 

Thorin _shuddered_.

 

Bilbo didn’t know when his hands stilled, and he didn’t know when Thorin lifted his head off his shoulder. Those eyes caught him, and still the words of his song dropped from his lips, plainly affecting Thorin as much as it had the first time he’d sung it.

 

“– only thou hast captured me in whole –”

 

Thorin’s deep voice joined in, startling Bilbo into silence. “Only thou hast captured me mind and soul.”

 

Their open mouths brushed. Thorin’s hand supported Bilbo’s skull as he pressed their noses together. A happy laugh bubbled from Bilbo’s chest when Thorin’s still-damp beard scraped against his chin, answered by a rumbling chuckle.

 

When Thorin kissed him again, deeply, it was as if something charged and thrilling passed through them, making it suddenly hard to breathe.

 

The King’s fingers were skilled and clever enough that Bilbo didn’t notice his robe’s tie had been undone until large hands slipped past the edges and skimmed over his stomach. They continued upwards and pushed the robe off his shoulders, unwrapping him. Bilbo shivered a bit as he was bared but lifted his chin unflinchingly.

 

No flattering words of poetry escaped from Thorin, but his gaze was more than adequate in revealing his thoughts. His hands reverently traced their way down soft flesh to the tops of Bilbo’s thighs, resting there as he stared at Bilbo and Bilbo stared back.

 

Likely he would’ve been happy to just sit there like a lump, but Bilbo was not so patient.

 

He’d been patient for over a year.

 

“Well? Are you going to touch me, husband?”

 

Thorin snarled.

 

Bilbo willingly allowed Thorin to push him down, falling against the dressing gown spread beneath his back; his legs wrapped loosely around the King’s waist. Their lips met and Bilbo found that he could do no more than hold on for dear life. Thorin’s tongue thrust confidently into his mouth, flitting into every corner and crevice as if he couldn’t resist devouring his Hobbit.

 

They didn’t hurry. Thorin pressed their bodies together from hip to chest, the feel of skin-on-skin almost overwhelming. Bilbo’s breath hitched and he arched his spine, already aching for more contact. He pushed his hands into Thorin’s hair to tug him close.

 

“This may now be my favourite place in the world,” he whispered, delighting in the way Thorin shook.

 

“What is the second favourite?”

 

Mischievously, Bilbo leaned closer, pressing his lips to Thorin’s ear. “Rivendell.”

 

A growl rumbled through Thorin’s chest and against his own.

 

Retaliation came in the form of the King grinding his hips down. Bilbo clutched at him helplessly, a ragged cry torn from his throat. An itch started under his skin and little bolts of lightning fire rushed through his body at every slight brush against Thorin.

 

“I am going to ruin you into incoherency, my burglar. You will not be able to talk, or _think_.” Thorin pulled back slightly to treat Bilbo to his smirk. “Or even walk.”

 

Eyes narrowed, Bilbo squeezed at the nape of Thorin’s neck. It was the Hobbit’s turn to smirk as he made a garbled noise. “Careful, Thorin,” he said sweetly, squirming at the hot breaths against his collarbone. “You shouldn’t make promises you cannot keep.”

 

A sharp nip. “Tread lightly.”

 

Bilbo, ready with a retort on the tip of his tongue, found the words stolen from him as Thorin bit at his lips. He would roll his eyes, but he was too busy scrabbling at Thorin’s back.

 

They rocked their hips together slowly and thoroughly. Pinned to the bed by Thorin’s bulk, Bilbo felt safe instead of trapped, protected instead of suffocated. He clutched at Thorin when the Dwarf started moving down his body, leaving him bereft and cold – only to be soothed with a firm and distracting kiss. Hands wrapped around his ankles and encouraged his feet flat onto the mattress, thumbs stroking through the thatches of curly hair there.

 

Bilbo gasped and sighed as Thorin’s lips charted skin no other person had ever touched. His fingers didn’t remain still; they clenched in the sheets or in Thorin’s hair, they fisted against the hard line of Thorin’s shoulders, they pressed tightly against his own mouth.

 

Something cool touched his hip. Thorin’s eyes were dark with desire as his fingers dug into the flesh of Bilbo’s thighs. He said lowly, “Only if you wish it.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes went to the bottle of oil lying pressed against his skin. A pithy remark formed in his head but was snatched away by an almost-frightening surge of lust. To have their bodies joined as one –

 

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I wish it.”

 

As he uncapped the oil bottle and slicked his fingers, Thorin pressed tiny kisses to Bilbo’s knees, making his burglar shake with suppressed laughter. Soon enough there was no breath for laughter, not with the gentle pressure of oiled fingers upon him and lips on his cock.

 

“Thorin –” He meant to ask the Dwarf to stop; it was too much, too good. Everything would be over sooner rather than later but the words refused to come… “ _Thorin_ –”

 

Luckily his plea was heard. He forced his eyes open so he could meet Thorin’s. “You are mine,” Thorin said. “You are my consort and I am your King, just as much as we are husbands. You are mine, and I am yours.”

 

“Mine,” Bilbo agreed, crying out loudly when his suitor and King and husband leaned down again. “Mine, _ah_ -and I am yours!”

 

Though Thorin was confident enough in preparing Bilbo, the movement of his mouth and tongue were hesitant at best. Yet Bilbo found himself thrashing and squirming against the mattress; there was something utterly intoxicating about that wet, warm heat and the sounds – _oh_ , the sounds. No one should sound that gratuitously indecent, much less a King.

 

Bilbo knew exactly when Thorin breached him with his finger, but he could not tell when one became two and two became three. These were new and strange and increasingly pleasurable experiences and all Bilbo could think to do was hang on for dear life.

 

Not to say that he forgot himself entirely.

 

“Don’t!” he said sharply, satisfied that Thorin froze in place. “Don’t wipe your hand on my robe!”

 

“Fine.” Thorin’s expression didn’t change in the slightest as he brought his palm up and smeared the oil all over Bilbo’s hip.

 

The Hobbit rolled his eyes. “Child.”

 

Instead of answering, Thorin abruptly and effortlessly hoisted Bilbo upwards and forwards, so Bilbo was now on his lap – pressing him completely against wickedly – gloriously – hard Dwarvish muscle.

 

Bilbo momentarily and completely lost himself; if he’d been in full control of his faculties, he’d have been ashamed of the way he thrust against the hard plane of Thorin’s abdomen, wanting, needing, _needing_ to satisfy the heat pooling in his groin. He huffed and whined through his nose, losing himself in the delicious friction –

 

Thorin suddenly steadied his hips. His large hands were beautiful pressure as they held him, thumbs pressing into his skin, but Bilbo’s lips unwittingly curled into a snarl. How _dare_ Thorin –

 

“Peace!” Thorin said, the edge of a laugh lacing his voice. “We’ll have time enough for that later.”

 

Bilbo refused to be pacified. “There’s time enough _now_.”

 

“Now I would have you, dear one.” Thorin’s grin bordered on feral as he thrust upwards, once, his cock sliding against Bilbo’s arse.

 

“O-oh. I see.” Having abruptly lost all traces of argument, Bilbo flushed and lifted his chin. “Continue on, then,” he said imperiously.

 

The next moments were filled with harsh breaths and stretching pressure, and at the end of it Bilbo had his face hidden in Thorin’s hair, arms clamped tight around broad shoulders. Large hands skimmed over the skin of his back, soothing, but Bilbo remained tense. His body felt too tight and the air too hot. He knew he was flushed, ashamed that his, er _interest_ had flagged somewhat against Thorin’s belly.

 

“Are you –” Thorin swallowed heavily and tried again. “Are you –?”

 

“One more, one more moment. Please.” Bilbo shuddered.

 

“Relax,” Thorin soothed. “Focus on me.”

 

“An idiotic plan,” Bilbo retorted a little breathlessly. “Seeing as you’re the whole reason I’m –” He bit his lip. This drew a laugh from Thorin, and Bilbo’s back snapped straight. “ _Ah_ – don’t move, I said!”

 

Immediate concern. “Bad?”

 

“No-o,” Bilbo said, not sounding all that sure. “No, I don’t, I don’t think so.”

 

Thorin pressed a kiss to the middle of Bilbo’s chest. “You move. You choose the pace.” He looked up at Bilbo. “When you’re ready.”

 

The words were barely past his lips before Bilbo started rocking his hips slowly, experimentally. There was open curiosity in his face, lips forming a soft ‘o’ as his hands lay loose on Thorin’s shoulders.

 

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmured. “My husband, my One.”

 

He put his fingers over thin lips. Thorin kissed them. “Hush.”

 

Bilbo met every one of Thorin’s thrusts with an answering roll of his hips, breath hitching each time Thorin’s hands tightened around his ribs. They moved together slowly, oh so very slowly, and near-constant tremors shuddered through his bones at the intensity of it all. Bilbo might have felt embarrassed but for the almost lost expression on Thorin’s face.

 

He couldn’t tear his gaze away.

 

Somehow his fingers on Thorin’s lips slipped past them and into the King’s mouth. His own fell open as Thorin sucked firmly, tongue wet and wicked. When Bilbo’s fingers slipped free, it seemed natural to trail them to Thorin’s nipple, squeezing and pinching.

 

It hurt his back, bending it as he did when Thorin pulled him down for an open-mouthed kiss. He didn’t care.

 

Bilbo’s mouth slid against Thorin’s slickly and he panted in a concerted effort to catch his breath. It was amazing to him that he was still moving; his thighs were burning and aching, but that was nothing compared to the slow fire consuming him – nothing felt like this, not magical fire setting tall pines ablaze, not the blistering pain of dragonfire at his heels. Not anything.

 

It was good, it was a relief when Thorin lost control first. Bilbo could look his fill at the exquisite expression on Thorin’s face, tight and almost-pained before it relaxed away into bliss. He touched his fingers to one hot cheek, straining to hear whatever nonsense was falling from Thorin’s lips and gasping at the violent snap of his husband’s hips.

 

Thorin choked off abruptly, chin dropping to his chest as he sucked in desperate breaths. Bilbo squirmed at the sensation and bit his lip when Thorin looked up and _smouldered_.

 

And then Thorin’s large hand wrapped around him, moving quickly, his grip a shade tighter than expected and yet just, just perfect and –

 

Bilbo was a master of words, but not a one of them could adequately describe this feeling; the curl of his toes and the arch of his spine and warm wet that spread between his and Thorin’s bodies. His fingers were wound tight in Thorin’s unbraided hair and he hoped in the back of his mind that he wasn’t pulling too hard.

 

Then the pleasure and delight overtook him completely, and Bilbo could think no more.

 

* * *

 

It was later. Bilbo was clean and sated and sleepy, and absently scratched his nose as he thought about needing water to drink.

 

He turned into Thorin’s chest as his husband settled into bed beside him. Oh, how did he ever sleep all these years without those strong arms around him? As his eyelids drooped, he wondered at how much his life had changed with a mark on his door and handkerchiefs in a box.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“I want to promise you something…”

 

Bilbo pulled back a little to meet Thorin’s gaze. He’d recognised the laughter in his voice, even if his expression betrayed nothing. “What?”

 

“When we wake, and it’s your turn to have me –”

 

Desire bubbled up in his veins. He shivered.

 

“– then I am going to show you how cruel _I_ can be.”

 

And really, who was he to argue with that?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to daemonwildcat for the beta, she's a star. And thanks to all of you for continuing to read this.
> 
> Just a note for anyone interested - I'll be taking the next month or so off of the Internet. My finals for third year have arrived, and unfortunately I must study. Writing will be happening, but I'm not posting. Sorry guys. I'll see you mid-July.


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